When was the last time I sent or received a real letter? I mean, real letter written with real pen on a real sheet of paper, where I would fold it, shove it into the envelope, seal it, run to the nearest post office, buy stamps, paste them on the envelope, sent it and come out with smiling face and wait for the reply.

Electronic mails…send in a jiffy. You get your response in a jiffy. How easy, how fast, how convenient!

It has been a long time since I saw a Post Office or a stamp. Is the art of letter writing and sending postcards dying? It was a different charm, different enthusiasm, different emotion to send and receive mails sealed in an envelope.

You send a mail and wait for the response. Days, weeks…and finally you get your reply. ‘Guess Who’ boasted a label at the back of the envelope. But you know the handwritings. Even so, you are tormented gleefully – butterflies in your stomach. You open it. You smile.

A skull, creamy and shiny, lay in front of him, its hollow eyes staring blankly across the wall – void and dark. He looked at it carefully and tried to pry it open with a tiny hammer. Where did it come from?

‘That’s your skull,’ said a voice, loud and clear, ‘crack it open and know the truth.’

My skull? The truth?

‘But be careful…’ warned the voice.

‘What truth?’ he asked and waited for the voice to answer. There was no answer. Only silence, deep and ringing in the stillness of his mind, the mind, he believed was entrapped in the skull.

He waited…for an answer, for a sign, for a clue, for anything that would determine his next move.

Nothing happened. Only deep silence in the stillness of night.

The lamp flickered in front of him, its flames limping in the darkness, light crawling in the room enough for him to see the skull. He studied it again. There was nothing to study, nothing to know. It was a normal skull. His skull.

‘Your furture’s in there…’ said the voice.

What future? He only saw the past, his past embroiled in maze of childhood confusion, a past without any hint of joy or condolence, a past without future. What future? What truth?

He was just a grain of dust hovering in the vast cosmos. His expectation was as thin as his prospect of a meaningful future. What did he hope for? And a dried piece of bone as a guide for his future? He laughed sardonically.

He stared at the skull without any thought, without any passion, without any emotion. He tapped it gently with the hammer. A dull thud, unpleasant and eerie that seemed to come from the hollow cavern of his being, a muddle of noise that distorted his past.

Slowly, he began to see it all. He understood everything. It was so simple. He smiled.

He held the skull in his hands and looked into its hollow eyes. Yes, there was no mistake. He saw it. The truth. The future. He let off the skull. It fell down on the hard floor and broke into pieces.

During such times, the world was an alien place, a dead place. He laughed. He shouted. Prayer flags fluttered in the wind whispering names of the dead. The dead answered. He heard them all. It was strange.

He laughed. People looked at him with pity. He didn’t mind them. He didn’t see them.

It all happened that day. When cattle had settled in their sheds and chickens retired in their coops; after fodder had been gathered and wooden palls filled with water, they saw him talk to a prayer flag and laughing hysterically.

He was a goner. They told each other. Such fine young man, to be punished for unknown karma. They pitied him. They couldn’t do anything. It was beyond the practice of the village doctor.

The young man first heard a faint hum in his ears, a melody he knew not existed. It was soothing, out of the world, transporting. A melody seemingly familiar, yet unheard. It often accompanied flickering lights and shades that danced before his eyes. He smiled. It was a rare sight.

I read the following interesting, rather strange, news a couple of days ago and let out some disgruntled laugh. Totally unnecessary, but couldn’t help it. Don’t know the whole truth about this stuff…but read on if you like…

Written by FARHANA ISMAILThursday, 22 March 2007 CIRCUMCISED men shouldn’t consider themselves immune to HIV, according to Aids activists and health professionals on campus.…“Current campaigns like ‘Love Life’ are not making a big enough impact on the pandemic. Twenty-five percent of young women are still HIV positive and that stat is not coming down.” …Apart from protection against HIV/Aids, circumcision can also protect against other sexually transmitted diseases. This is because the protective effect of circumcision is provided by the removal of the thin sensitive inner lining of the foreskin, which is more vulnerable to disease than the vaginal lining. Its efficacy is largely dependent on a safe hygienic surgical procedure.…

There are more such articles if you would care to google or yahoo…or maybe gahooyoogle:)

I wouldn’t take the risk though. I wouldn’t snip it off either (now you know *lol*). Anyway, almost all Bhutanese would require ‘snipping’ off if this were true! Imagine the hospital filled with eager men waiting in line for the snip snip…man, wouldn’t that be a scene? *lol*